Wordsmith
by Rumrum
Summary: A young woman arrives in Edoras bringing with her strange tales, new ideas, and a knowledge of the future...
1. In a land far, far away

DISCLAIMER: It is called fanfiction for a reason, so just sit back, relax, and read… no questions asked.

 **CHAPTER 1: IN A LAND FAR, FAR AWAY**

 _ **You can find magic wherever you look. Sit back and relax, all you need is a book.**_ (*1)

Cressida was walking towards a great river that was flowing dreamily along. There was grass all around her, stretching out as far as the eye could see, like a great rippling ocean. And there was wind – lots of wind – catching at her skirts. She was wearing a heavy, woollen dress, faded-red in colour, which was quite unlike the jeans and blouse combo she usually wore. Her boots were hard-wearing, heavy, and not very well fitted, but at least her toes were wrapped in coarse, woollen socks. In spite of the fierce wind, Cressida felt warm, especially with the addition of a linen shift, a thick grey-green cloak, brown leather gloves, and a woollen scarf. Her hair was also done up against the elements: a tight braided-bun intertwined with silken ribbons.

Where the hell was she? Cressida cast her mind around; it landed on Shakespeare's _Henry V_. She began to recite the St Crispin's Day Speech:

 _What's he that wishes so?  
My cousin, Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;  
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow  
To do our country loss; and if to live,  
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.  
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.  
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,  
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;  
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;  
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.  
But if it be a sin to covet honour,  
I am the most offending soul alive._ (*2)

It was oddly soothing standing there, reciting Shakespeare. At the very least it meant Cressida _was_ still Cressida.

She knelt down by the river's edge and dipped her fingers into the perfectly clear water. It was like ice, but not very deep. She sank her hand down to the bottom; her fist closed round a pebble and brought it back to the surface. Weighty and smooth, it was something to hold on to.

Unconsciously, Cressida put her hand to her chest, glad that her treasured Tinkerbell pendant was there as always. She couldn't imagine going anywhere without it.

 _All you need is faith, trust, and just a little bit of Pixie-dust._ (*3)

Cressida would certainly need faith and trust now in this strange land. Turning her head, her eyes lighted upon – not too far away – a small, fortified town. Laying at the foot of a great mountain, the little hillock was peppered with timber-and-thatch cottages. To someone who was used to all the sights, sounds, and smells of Edinburgh, it was rather rustic. Still, it appeared to be the only vestige of civilisation nearby. Her only hope now was that the inhabitants would be friendly.

XXX

The closer Cressida got to the settlement, the hillier the terrain became. As one generally does in new surroundings, she kept craning her neck to look up at her destination. Her eyes alighted upon a flag fluttering upon the roof of what appeared to be the grandest building, set high above the others. The flag was emerald green and had a white and gold horse rampant upon it.

She was now moving along a kind of avenue lined with lots of small mounds, each covered in tiny, white flowers. They reminded her of the round-barrows that frequented the landscape around Stonehenge. She swallowed, something was beginning to stir in her mind, but she was not yet ready to explore it further. Not that she would have had much of a chance, as she was rapidly nearing the gated entrance. There were two official-looking types standing to attention at either side. Bearded and muscular, the fact that their hair was both blond and long did nothing to detract from their masculinity. The green of their cloaks matched that of the flag and each was armed with at least two weapons: a spear and a sword. They remained silent and slightly quizzical as Cressida came to a halt in front of them.

"Sorry, but do you understand me?" she addressed the elder of the pair.

He exchanged an odd look with his partner, but nodded.

"We do indeed, Miss, for you speak the Common Tongue, do you not?" His accent was an odd one, quite unplaceable.

"Ye-es," Cressida drew the word out, "I suppose I am, but would you mind clarifying something for me: where am I?"

The men both blinked in surprise, shock even.

"You, erm, are at Edoras, Miss."

Now it was Cressida's turn to look shocked.

"What did you say? _Edoras_? As in Rohan? As in Middle-Earth? As in… _Tolkien_?" she fair whispered the great author's name.

"I don't know about any Tolkien, Miss, but Edoras is the capital of Rohan, and the seat of Théoden-King."

"Much good it does us," mumbled the other.

His elder glared at him.

"Wilfrith, hold your tongue! I'm sure the young miss does not want or _need_ to hear such things."

"But he hasn't been seen in public for ages and…"

"Idle Meduseld gossip."

"And he's said to look like an old crone."

"He's just getting on in years."

"He's more or less the same age as you, Captain."

Another glare.

"Anything _I_ can help with, Miss?"

"Where do I go from here? I know no one in Edoras."

"In that case, you won't make a much better start than by heading over to The Stag's Rest, where you will find good board and lodging."

"But I…I have no money to speak of."

The Captain's face softened.

"Don't you worry about that – Mistress Hild is very accommodating. I'm sure she'll come up with some arrangement that suits you both."

"Thank you – how do I get there?"

"Wilfrith will show you, and then on the way back he can sign up for extra stable-cleaning duties."

Wilfrith scowled.

"Yes, Captain."

They set off, Wilfrith guiding Cressida through the thatched cottages and shops. Towards the centre of the town, at the far end of a large square, stood a building separated from the rest. There was a side-gate leading to what Cressida assumed was a service or stable-yard. A sign above the entrance swung in the wind, it was carved with a brown stag resting against a tree.

"Well, here we are," she said slightly apprehensively.

"Don't you worry, Miss. Mistress Hild is lovely; she'll set you right. And… if you're ever in need of a guide about town, I'd be happy to oblige."

"Thank you, Wilfrith, I like the sound of that."

"My pleasure, Miss…?" He left the question hanging.

"Lewis, Cressida Lewis."

There was a pause.

"Cressida… daughter of Lewis? _From_ Lewis?"

"No, no, just Cressida is fine."

"Miss Cressida, then. Good day."

Wilfrith made a small bow, smiled, and turned on his heel. Cressida watched his helmed head disappear in to the crowd. Then, letting out a small breath, she stepped into The Stag's Rest.

As the clichés had told her to expect, Cressida found that there were very few patrons inside the inn, and those that were all turned toward her. She smiled nervously, looking around. The bar was across the room, although no one was behind it. She moved in that direction and could soon hear clatterings coming from behind a door.

"Hello?" she called, loudly as she dared, painfully aware of the eyes still fixed upon her.

"Be with you in moment, dearie," came the answering shout.

Whilst Cressida waited, she studied her surroundings. A fire was crackling away in the hearth, in front of which lay a dog. Large, grey, and shaggy, it reminded Cressida of an Irish Wolfhound. There were chairs and benches arranged around the scattered tables. A couple of tapestries lined the otherwise bare walls. One was very Rohirric in nature, depicting a herd of wild horses galloping across the plains. The other was a forest scene, with a small, thatched cottage standing in a clearing. There was nothing else in the picture, but Cressida felt somehow drawn to it; she couldn't stop looking at the greens of the trees, the little cottage with the blue door, the curve of the path…

"Hello, my dear, how may I be of assistance?"

Startled, Cressida turned back to see a plump, grey-haired lady, in a brown dress and apron, smiling at her from behind the bar. She held a metal tankard in one hand and a cloth in the other, which she using to idly wipe the aforementioned tankard, seemingly more out of habit than anything. Cressida wondered how long she'd been standing there.

"Err, I was told you might have a room available?"

A shake of the head.

"'Fraid not, dearie, we're a full house tonight."

"Oh… well, I'm sorry to bother you."

"Please don't go." The woman hurried round to stand in front of Cressida. "I'm sure we can find you something. I would be ashamed to let a young lady wander these streets alone, especially in these dark times. Why don't you come through to my private rooms, where we can talk about it? At the very least let me get you something hot to eat and drink. You must have come a long way, and such a little thing like you… look at you, there's barely a scrap of flesh to your bones!" She tutted in a motherly fashion. "Come along. Aldus?" she called out. "I'll be in the parlour."

"Right ye be, dear."

Cressida felt something soft being inserted into her palm. It was the dog, who had left its cozy berth and was now looking for attention. It had to belong to the woman, who could only be Mistress Hild, for it evidently meant to follow them. Mistress Hild led the way to a snug little room that was lined with shelves full of knick-knacks and useful objects. Two chairs and a table were arranged in front of the fire, which had been carefully banked to allow for easy relighting. A pile of knitting had been left in one of the chairs, so Cressida was chivvied into the other. Mistress Hild then set about building up the fire. Once it was beginning to crackle, she left the room with an airy adieu.

Whilst she was alone, Cressida took the chance to remove her wrappings. The dog sidled up and laid its head in her lap, looking so baleful that Cressida couldn't help but scratch its ears. Already she felt at home here – it was warm and everyone had been so welcoming. Mistress Hild even reminded Cressida somewhat of her own grandmother.

"Faith and trust," she said to herself, causing the dog to prick up its ears. "That's what I need, isn't it, boy?"

Further ear-scratching elicited a slow wag of the tail and Cressida relaxed back into the chair. It wasn't long before Mistress Hild returned with a tray laden with steaming beakers and a plate of biscuits.

"Do help yourself, my dear," she said, indicating the tray, "They're my own recipes. I pick and steam the berries myself."

Cressida took a beaker and sniffed the heady aroma.

"But where are my manners? I am Mistress Hild, Keeper of The Stag's Rest along with my husband, Master Aldus. This one here is Mund, our most faithful companion."

The dog, having changed allegiance when his mistress sat down, thumped his tail at the familiar sound of his name.

"And you, my dear?"

"I'm Cressida Lewis."

"Miss Cressida? Why didn't you say? We've been expecting you."

Cressida blinked.

"You have?"

"Of course, we prepared your room only this morning."

"There must be some mistake; there has to be another…" Cressida halted. 'Cressida Lewis' was not exactly your average Rohirric name. "But I know no one in Edoras and I had to be directed here."

"I assure you it's all arranged. Let me show you the register."

Springing up, Mistress Hild hurried away. She returned holding a brown, leather ledger, embossed at the top with a golden stag. Opening it about two-thirds of the way through, she handed it over. Cressida stared at the parchment. Clearly printed in black ink was her name – her full name.

"But, Mistress Hild, I – I have no money to pay you."

The old lady smiled gently.

"Now don't you worry for one more moment about that. I'm sure an intelligent-looking thing like you will find a respectable way of earning coin in no time. Please say you'll stay. Aldus and I like having a full house, and it would be nice for me to have a bit more female company hereabouts."

It was so very tempting; Cressida's heart was telling her that she was being offered a comfortable place to stay for free – at least for the moment. Of course there were all the dark tales about things being too good to be true, but these were rapidly being over-ruled by thoughts of what it would be like outside by herself at night. In this weather, she could very well end up like Hans Christian Andersen's _Little Match Girl_. There could be thieves – or worse. Cressida shivered. Surely neither the Captain nor Wilfrith would have recommended this place if it was dodgy? Staying here would at least offer her some breathing space. And who else could say they'd actually been to _Rohan_?

"OK, I will."

Mistress Hild beamed.

"Wonderful! Now you drink up, and then I'll take you to your room. Maybe you would care for some mutton stew later? Firstly, however, I'll need you to sign the register."

She fetched a quill and inkpot from one of the shelves. Cressida smiled gingerly as she took up the feather and loaded the nib with ink. She soon realised that writing easily with a quill was definitely _not_ something you mastered overnight, especially as said quill seemed to be cut with a right-handed person in mind. Eventually, however, a somewhat legible job was made of it.

Once their biscuits and drinks had been consumed, Mistress Hild led the way upstairs.

"We've put you on the second floor, dear. We're on the first, but we thought our guests might prefer a quieter setting, seeing how rowdy the inn gets in the evenings."

They soon came to a corridor that ran the length of the building and from which a handful of doors led off. Mistress Hild stopped in front of one and produced a bunch of keys. She unlocked the door.

"Here you are, dear. You'll find your key on the table. Now don't you forget about the stew; we'd be happy to share our table, or I could bring you up a bowlful?"

"I hadn't really thought…"

"Of course you hadn't. You must be tired. Tell you what, I'll let you know when I'm preparing it and you can decide then, hmm?"

As Cressida looked apprehensively into the room beyond, Mistress Hild took hold of her hand.

"Don't you worry, dear, we can be your family now."

It was an odd thing to say, but it was meant in kindness. Cressida smiled and nodded before stepping into her room. Once the door had closed behind her, she leant against it, exhaling slowly. Here she was, in Rohan, in _The Lord of the Rings_ – a book for crying out loud. How the hell did she get here? And, more importantly, how did she plan on getting back?

 **TBC**

*1 Dr Seuss (1904-1991).

*2 _Henry V_ Act 4 Scene 3, 18-29.

*3 Disney's _Peter Pan_.


	2. A Merrier World

_**For EluredandElruin  
**_ _I'm afraid I was unable to reply to your review directly, as you reviewed as a guest, but I always make sure I do. Firstly, thank you for your review, it always makes writing that whole lot more worthwhile to know people enjoy reading what I produce. I do like to take things slowly when writing and proof-reading so I myself can be satisfied. Here is the next instalment; I hope you enjoy it as much as the first…_

DISCLAIMER: It is called fanfiction for a reason, so just sit back, relax, and read… no questions asked.

 **CHAPTER 2: A MERRIER WORLD** *****

 _ **Where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore?**_ (*1)

… _The shoemaker cut out all sorts of shoes: men's shoes, ladies' shoes, little children's shoes, dancing shoes, party shoes, shoes with laces, shoes with straps and buckles. He became well known for the excellent shoes he sold, and each week he took even more money in his shop._

 _One evening, just before Christmas, his wife suggested they should peep around the door of the work room to see if they could find out who was making the shoes. As the town clock struck midnight…_ (*2)

The soft lilting voice was so clear in Cressida's mind. Her mum's – _just_ her mum's, for which she was glad. Her mum had always read to her when she was little, at every turn impressing upon Cressida both the importance and sheer enjoyment of reading. Books could take a person anywhere, anywhere away from life's realities. If one's imagination was fed and kept healthy, it would always be there, ready and waiting.

Yet Cressida's current reality was _very_ different from what she was used to. She kept her eyes tight shut… _just a little longer_ … trying to hold onto her mother's voice, but sounds and smells were starting to invade. Birdsong, not so very unusual, it was true, as were the smells of cooking, but there was also wood-smoke and horses. Horses seemed to pervade everything here – even way up in her room, Cressida could detect a faint whiff of manure.

But she could avoid it no longer.

She let out a small breath and opened her eyes: There were the chests – hers apparently – filled with clothes and other personal trinkets; and there were the table and chairs, and the fireplace. Everything was as it had been when she'd turned in.

Throwing off the blankets, Cressida hopped out of bed and instantly wrapped herself well up in a thick, woollen shawl. It was bitterly cold again; she supposed it was winter. At least it wasn't snowing. She began to wonder what was supposed to happen now, for there was no ensuite and Mistress Hild hadn't mentioned anything about shared facilities. The charming experience of the trip to the outside privy last night told Cressida that that was not the place in which one should try to get clean. She'd have to ask.

Pulling on her boots, Cressida ventured out into the corridor. She didn't get very far, for she was soon accosted by Mund, who came bounding up the stairs, his booming barks reverberating around the building. He was quickly followed by Master Aldus.

"Mund! Leave her be – _leave_!" Mund backed off. "Ye be wantin' summat to wash in, Miss?" He had quite a nice country burr when he wasn't angry or drunk, as he had been the previous evening.

"Yes please."

"Right ye be." He turned on his heels.

Before Cressida turned back to her room, she looked down into Mund's big brown eyes and gently scratched his ears.

"Mund!"

Cressida flinched slightly at the harsh tone, but Mund complied.

A little while later, there came a soft tapping on the door. Guessing its purpose, Cressida opened it.

"Thank you, dear."

Cressida was almost glad it was Mistress Hild.

The plump woman bustled in and set a ewer and bowl down on the table, along with some linen cloths, before bending down to stoke the fire back into life. Cressida couldn't stop herself.

"Mistress Hild, Master Aldus seems a little tense this morning… especially with Mund…"

Mistress Hild smiled understandingly.

"Now don't you worry about that, dearie. Aldus is a little rough-mannered, but t'is just his way. As for Mund, well, they're thick as thieves. Aldus would rather cut off his hand than set it against beast or woman."

Cressida slowly nodded her acceptance.

"Now then, you wash up and I'll see you downstairs for break of fast."

With that, Mistress Hild took her leave, humming one of the tunes from the bar last night as she did so. Cressida turned back to the table, hands on hips, eyeing the implements newly placed there. This would certainly be a new experience; she supposed the nearest thing to fresh, running water there was around here was the river she'd found. She cast around in her mind – it must be the Snowbourn. Yes, that was near Edoras, flowing towards the Entwash. She was determined to commit all this to memory so she could compare things when she got back.

However, on with the task at hand. Cressida first removed what she presumed was soap from the bowl, and then the cloth covering the top of the ewer, thereby releasing a cloud of steam. It was this same cloth that Cressida used to support the deceptively heavy ewer as she was lifting it to pour the water into the bowl. The soap was rougher than she was used to and it didn't look all that appealing, but as she gingerly sniffed it, she thought she could detect a fresh, herby smell. At least it _was_ soap.

She started to lather her face and neck, but then decided to de-robe and scrub the rest of her body as best she could. Cleanliness about her room didn't seem to be an issue – the bedsheets were white and fresh, and all the surfaces gleamed – but she couldn't be sure of the local bathing protocol. As uncomfortable as 'bathing' standing up was, it was better than nothing.

Her washing done, Cressida slipped on a white, linen shift, and then a new dress. Less rough than the other, it was a pleasant shade of pale green and its bodice was embroidered with tiny flowers of white, pink, and yellow. Once she had tugged on some boots, she turned her attention to her hair. Cressida had always enjoyed having her waves of thick, golden hair as it meant she could experiment with styles and accessories. The girls at the perfume store where she worked even had running bets on what would happen to her hair next. It had become a sort of contest between them all.

At least her father has… _no, Cressida!_ After all her years of blocking him out, he could still 'pop up' unexpectedly. Even now, she could still see his hand… but Cressida shut her eyes against it, and hummed _A Whole New World_ from Disney's _Aladdin_ all the while she was plaiting her hair. She had decided on a French side-braid today, and the act of delicately collecting each strand of hair was found to be very soothing.

She was still humming even as she descended the stairs and found her way to the kitchen, where Mistress Hild was bent over a large cauldron, stirring the glutinous contents.

"My, that sounds a cheerful tune, dearie, maybe you could share some of it tonight? I trust you slept well? You must have travelled some distance yesterday."

"Hmmm? Oh, yes, I was very comfortable, thank you. Did you need any help?"

"Dear me, no! You're a guest. You just sit yourself at the table."

It was not long before they were all sitting down to bowls filled with steaming porridge, while Mund gnawed on a bone by the fire. Mistress Hild waited only for a couple of spoonfuls before she began talking.

"What might you do today, my dear? As it's your first time in Edoras, you may perhaps like to have a look round? I'd accompany you, but I've got my usual chores this morning, and then market this afternoon – although you'd be welcome to join me?"

Cressida chewed on her porridge thoughtfully, what _would_ she like to do? She was still trying to get her head around it all: to hear the name Edoras being bandied around, it was almost too surreal. But then a little exploring couldn't hurt – just to make the most of things. Quite unbidden, the image of Wilfrith surfaced in her mind. He _had_ offered to show her the 'sites'; she could at least wander up to the gates to see if he was around.

"I will go out."

XXX

Fortunately, Cressida met Wilfrith in the square outside The Stag's Rest. He had been coming the other way and smiled upon sight of her. Cressida noticed he was not dressed in his uniform, but instead in rough leggings and boots, along with a faded blue tunic, leather jerkin, and a thick, woollen cloak.

"I'm not on duty today," he called brightly, "And I seem to remember making a lady an offer. I came this way in the hope that she hadn't forgotten."

Cressida returned his smile.

"Indeed you did… and here the aforementioned lady is, ready and waiting."

Wilfrith chuckled and bowed regally.

"Shall we, My Lady?"

They set off, retracing the route they had taken the previous day. Meduseld was always within sight, rising above the other buildings on its rocky outcrop – rather like the Parthenon, Cressida mused. They soon came to the foot of the Meduseld hill. Here Wilfrith paused, looking up and sighing sadly.

"Poor Théoden; I can still remember him investing me into the Riders. It was barely three years later that rumours started circulating as to his weakening state. He hasn't set foot outside for four years now. It's heart-breaking really, he was so strong, but now the Worm has him fully within his grasp. I know I should be loyal to my king, and I am, but would that Lord Éomer would return. I'd rise up for him."

Cressida looked round sharply; she caught sight of two Riders coming the other way. Hopefully they hadn't noticed.

"Are you sure it's safe to be speaking so openly?" she almost hissed. "Gríma Wormtongue must have many spies around."

Wilfrith harrumphed.

"Has his reputation spread _that_ far? Then few of us are safe."

"How far?"

"Wherever it is you come from."

"Oh yes… of course."

But Cressida was distracted, for she was doing some rapid mental arithmetic. She knew from her readings that Saruman started to weaken Théoden in 3014, so four years on from that meant it must be about 3018 – the year the Fellowship began. Then there would be Helm's Deep and the Pelennor Fields… It was all Cressida could do to not utter a _very_ anachronistic expletive.

XXX

When they walked back, the conversation turned to dreams and prospects. Wilfrith's of course were already fairly well set: work his way up the ranks and hope for glory in battle. He did also hope to travel to other parts of Middle-Earth, maybe to somewhere like the Bay of Belfalas, for he had never seen the sea before.

Cressida's were a little hazier, even though her experiences and home were so different. She hadn't gone to University, even though she was easily intelligent and hard-working enough. She'd done her A-Levels, but hadn't wanted to go further just for the sake of it. Just the thought of all that debt… No, Cressida knew she could do just as well going down another path.

"I've always liked writing – you know, stories. I had a dream of having something published. In fact I was working on a tale about a warrior-princess who…" Cressida paused, suddenly noticing that Wilfrith had been staring at her with a mixture of curiosity and fascination. "What?"

"You write for pleasure?"

"Yes. The markets back home are saturated with books. We can't seem to get enough of them."

Wilfrith was quiet for a moment, for Rohan contained few books and most Rohirrim had very little in the way of schooling. He had been fortunate to have long prepared for a life in the Riders, where illiteracy was discouraged, especially if one hoped to rise to a rank of command. It was not uncommon for a man to join up and then make a request for extra education.

"Most of our tales are passed on by word of mouth," he finally offered. "But I bet you know some interesting ones. Your home sounds wonderful, where is it again?"

"A long way from here – I think."

"Well, why don't you share some of _your_ tales with us? We always like hearing new ones."

"I don't know that many," Cressida cautioned.

 _No, wait a minute… Perrault, Shakespeare, Chaucer… and that was just three… in_ Western _literature. Surely they wouldn't mind… maybe with a bit of editing… and it would mean a whole new audience._

 _Hmmm._

XXX

That afternoon found Cressida and Mistress Hild heading to the market. As luck would have it, the previous exploration of the chests in her room had revealed a sizeable bag of money. Cressida had no idea of the monetary system in place in Middle-Earth, merely hoping it would be enough to see her through until she's established a regular income for herself. After all, she didn't know how long she'd remain and wanted a _little_ financial security.

Being the nearest thing to a major city Rohan had, Edoras proved to be a positive magnet to all the farmers, small-holders, and craftspeople who lived in the surrounding area. But Cressida was less interested in these temporary stalls at the moment, instead wanting to visit Master Gladwine's shop. Master Gladwine seemed to be a kind of Rohirric stationer, selling parchment, inks, and the like to the small minority of people who actually had the time or need for such things. People such as the King's Councillors; other merchants; or occasionally the daughters of the wealthier houses of Edoras, who wanted to expand their 'accomplishments'.

Cressida's whole face lit up when she entered the little shop. It was crammed with everything a budding writer could wish for: leather-bound ledgers filled the top shelf, while the lower ones held rolls and sheets of parchment all graded according to quality. There were drawers brimming with quills, charcoal sticks, chalk, ink-pots, and brushes. A special glass-fronted cabinet behind the counter displayed its contents of multi-coloured inks almost proudly.

"Good afternoon, Miss."

The kindly voice broke through Cressida's reverie, making her start slightly. She looked over to where it came from. A man in his 40s or 50s was standing in front of a curtained doorway. His dark shoulder-length hair was only just showing flecks of grey, and he was dressed in a long russet-coloured robe that was quite unlike the leggings and tunic combination which Cressida had come to expect. The man's smile broadened, evidently already recognising a kindred spirit.

"I am Master Gladwine, proprietor. Welcome to my humble shop – is there anything specific you were looking for?"

"I don't really know, I'm afraid. I've got so many ideas in my head, it's difficult to know where to start."

"Do not fret, Miss, there is plenty of time. Take as long as you need. I stock most things and there are baskets behind you should you need one. I can help with anything out of reach."

In the end, Cressida came away with a long roll of rough parchment for making notes, writing implements, and a large notebook for neater writings. The latter was bound in purple leather, which made it almost double the price of the others, but Cressida just couldn't resist. She and her mum had always believed the odd indulgence couldn't hurt. Also buried amongst the quills was a small collection of charcoals, for seeing the coloured inks had given Cressida another idea.

XXX

Back at The Stag's Rest, Cressida bagged herself a corner table big enough for her to spread out on. She couldn't wait to get started. Mund padded over and lay down at her feet, he was followed closely by Mistress Hild.

"Have you got everything you need, my dear?"

"Oh yes, thank you, Master Gladwine was very helpful. I'll just sit here and write, if that's OK?"

"Surely, dearie, just you mind out later, it gets pretty rowdy in here."

Mistress Hild wasn't wrong. As the afternoon changed into evening, the inn got fuller and fuller. The humdrum of chatter was punctuated by shouting, laughter, and the odd snatch of singing. There was clouds of smoke, too, from all the pipes men used. Cressida hadn't realised how used she'd gotten to smoke-free rooms until now. In fact she was on the verge of retreating to her own room when a shadow fell across the table. It was Wilfrith.

"Hello there."

"Hello. Are you here on your own?"

"No, I came with some of the lads."

Wilfrith indicated behind him. Five Riders, including the Captain from yesterday, were standing at the bar grinning.

"Go on, Wilfrith, buy your girl a drink!"

Wilfrith flushed.

"Erm, would you care to join us?"

"Won't your friends mind?"

"No, they're harmless enough… in their own way. They will tease, though"

Cressida smiled at the look on his face.

"I'm sure it's nothing I haven't heard before. I'll just put my stuff away."

When Cressida re-entered the bar, Wilfrith and the others were crowded around her table.

"Right, lads, make way for the lady," the Captain ordered.

They all shifted and bunched up until there was enough room. Wilfrith handed her a small tankard.

"It's cider, I thought you might prefer it to ale."

As Cressida sipped at the tangy liquid, a small band of musicians started playing. There were a couple of fiddlers, someone with a big hand-drum, and someone else with a set of pipes. The tunes were very lively, instantly reminding Cressida of the dance-scene in _Titantic_. Even now, a space was being made by the crowd and a handful of couples got up to dance. Beside Cressida, Wilfrith was draining his tankard, and then he stood, holding out his hand.

"Will you join me?"

Cressida hesitated, then nodded. The rest of the group stayed stoically silent, only exchanging their coins when their young colleague was safely out of the way.

As the musicians started anew, Cressida felt herself relax and become swept up with the wild dance. She didn't know the steps, but no one cared a jot. All around them people were clapping along and Mistress Hild watched from behind the bar. Her face was holding an almost wistful expression.

 **TBC**

*"If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world." (J.R.R. Tolkien)

*1 Henry Ward Beecher (1813-1887).

*2 _The Elves and the Shoemaker_ by The Brothers Grimm (1806).


	3. Ghosts of Christmas Past

DISCLAIMER: It is called fanfiction for a reason, so just sit back, relax, and read… no questions asked.

 **CHAPTER 3: GHOSTS OF CHRISTMAS PAST**

 _ **Books have led some to learning and others to madness.**_ (*1)

 _Ella was so happy, for she'd gotten into Art College to study Illustration. It was her dream to join the publishing world – maybe even create her own books one day. Ella had always been good at art and her father boasted proudly, maybe even a little cynically, that she didn't need some academic ponce telling her so. Still, Ella was determined; she would learn new techniques and maybe even get a few contacts in the industry. She'd certainly meet a lot of new people._

 _With all this in mind, Ella threw herself into student life and joined a variety of the societies advertised around the campus. She began to learn Italian, joined a book-club, and even continued with netball. Yes, life was good._

 _At least, life_ was _good...until she met Melvin._

 _Life with Melvin was good in the beginning. He was a bouncer in the nightclub Ella occasionally went to, and everything about him was just so_ different _from the men who inhabited the little West Country village she grew up in. He was like a drug that Ella couldn't get enough of, and of course it was natural she stop going to netball so much… and she could learn Italian anytime. Melvin seemed to like that._

 _She got pregnant._

 _Ella was in shock when she saw the little blue line appear; she'd always thought herself more careful than that. And what did she know about babies anyway? It would be so much hard work: Nappies in all the cupboards, hardly any sleep, breathing in the scent of sick and used nappies. It wasn't all that ideal time-wise. It was… it was wonderful. The more Ella thought about that little bundle of cells growing inside her, the more she realised it was always with a smile on her face. She couldn't wait._

 _Melvin seemed excited, too. He promised to take care of both Ella and their son, but she would have to drop out of Art College, as he couldn't be expected to support the three of them whilst Ella was living the high life, could he? Ella reluctantly agreed, but she could get a job and maybe work on her art on the side._

 _She didn't get a job._

 _Melvin wanted her at home._

 _On the bright side, this gave her plenty of time to draw._

 _She didn't tell Melvin._

 _Ella's parents were far more sceptical about this new arrangement, and they didn't altogether approve of Melvin, but Ella wanted to make it work and they determined to do all they could to help. One of the things Eric and Regina didn't like was Melvin's temper, which he could be rather free with. He eventually took things too far at work and ended up in prison. It wasn't much of a surprise, even to the club who had employed Melvin on the understanding that such behaviour was behind him. It was hard on Ella though, who didn't seem to be able to function without him, but at least she had her mum when her time came._

 _Little Cressida Sophia was first introduced to her father outside the prison gates when he was released. Eric had put his foot down at the prospect of his grand-daughter being actually taken inside the place. Ella knew things would work this time – they had to – after all, Melvin was so happy to be with his family again. True, he never actually banked on having a daughter, but he was soon boasting to his mates down the pub that she was already as beautiful as her mother. Melvin liked to joke that they were like mustard and cress. It wasn't all that funny, but Ella always laughed to please him._

 _He couldn't go back to being a bouncer, so he ended up doing favours for people, and then went on the dole. Times were tight, so it was only natural that Melvin was a bit sad and angry. He could be excused the occasional light relief that drink brought him, couldn't he? He was working his fingers to the bone, after all._

 _XXX_

 _Cressida would always remember_ that _Christmas. She had gone to bed promptly, so that Father Christmas would come quick as quick. Mummy had read_ Rumpelstiltskin _to her. It was one of her all-time favourite stories. They always played a game when it came to the guessing part: Cressida would shout all the most outlandish names she could think of while Mummy would go, 'No, that's not my name!' in response._

 _Cressida liked those private times with Mummy, when it was just them in the flat. Daddy didn't like such games. Daddy always smelt funny when he gave her a bear-hug. Alice's Daddy didn't smell like that. Alice's Daddy was nice._

 _Cressida woke up. It was still night-time and she could hear Daddy's voice – it was raised and angry. Then there was Mummy's voice, no longer soft but edged with an urged tone. Daddy's voice rose again, and then there was a strange sound that was like a clap. It was not a happy sound._

 _Silence._

 _Clutching her Minnie Mouse doll, Cressida crept out of her room and along the corridor to the sitting room. She peeped through the crack. Mummy was crying and holding her cheek. Daddy was looking cross._

" _How dare you badmouth me in my own home? After I've slaved away all day trying to keep a roof over our heads, all I do is to go to the pub with the lads and watch a match. I DO NOT NEED YOUR BLOODY BLEATING!"_

" _Yes, Melvin, I'm sorry – I won't ever…"_

" _Oh, piss off."_

 _Daddy stomped towards the door, causing Cressida to reel back sharply. She screwed up her eyes in reaction to the sudden light._

" _Well, well, well, look who it is. You're as bad as your mother, sneaking around behind my back. Go on, then, how much did you hear?"_

" _Mummy?" Cressida's voice quavered._

" _Excuse me?_ I _asked the question. How much did you hear?"_

" _Melvin, please."_

 _Mummy came up behind Daddy._

" _Don't you interrupt;_ I _make the orders. Cressida. What. Did. You. Hear?" There was a sourness to his breath._

 _Cressida could feel a pounding in her chest._

" _Please leave her out of this, Melvin. Cressida, you-"_

 _Daddy leapt up. He began jabbing his finger at Mummy's chest._

" _I told you not to interrupt. Don't you listen to anything I say? You stupid, careless bitch."_

" _Mummy's not stupid, you are. You're a mean, horrible man and I HATE YOU!"_

 _Daddy froze. Slowly, he turned round and walked towards Cressida, who backed into the corridor. Daddy smiled, but it was the wrong kind of smile, and then a sharp, stinging pain enflamed Cressida's cheek, knocking her sideways. Mummy started shrieking and threw herself at Daddy, who was shouting back. Cressida's head was ringing..._

 _Mustard and cress…_

 _Mustard and cress…_

 _Mustard and cress…_

Cressida sat up, a cold sweat soaking her body. Yes, she remembered that Christmas very well.

XXX

Cressida was rather subdued the next morning. Maybe it was because Yule was coming up and, for once, she and her mum weren't together. They'd always tried to make it an extra special time of year. Along with all the festive frills, they also made time to spend with a domestic violence or women's charity. They had been lucky and had managed to escape her father's clutches; now they wanted to give something back.

Things would certainly be different this year.

Cressida had just returned to the bar, having collected her cloak, when she clapped eyes upon the forest tapestry. Again it seemed to call to her, but she couldn't see why.

"Mistress Hild, where did you get that tapestry?" Cressida pointed.

"Why that, dearie, bless my soul if I can remember. I must have liked the scenery – t'is so different from Rohan. Are you going walking again?"

"Yes, I think I will."

"Well, just you be careful. Snow's in the air. It will be a bitter Yule this year, and there's talk of evil creatures roaming Rohirric lands. I'd advise taking your young man with you as an escort."

"Wilfrith is not my 'young man'."

"Whatever you say, dear."

Cressida never went all that far anyway, just up to the Snowbourn. She'd just watch and wait, to see if anything happened. It seemed the most logical starting point.

The thing was, Cressida was finding herself becoming more and more a part of Edoras life. She was now established as a Wordsmith – a teller of tales – and her reputation grew by the day. She awoke each morning brimming with ideas. She'd started off with Fairy Tales, such as Snow White and Rapunzel, then she'd branched out into Chaucer and Shakespeare. She would read aloud in the square, and sold story and picture-pages. She had rapidly become one of Master Gladwine's most eager customers. The trips to his shop always took more time than necessary because they chatted so much.

Cressida had also made a few friends amongst the young women of Edoras, but the people she interacted with most were Mistress Hild, Master Aldus, and Wilfrith. Wilfrith seemed to like accompanying her when he could; they'd even gone riding a couple of times. They danced more, too. Cressida enjoyed these times most, when she could just throw herself into the fun and forget everything else.

Yule was something else she could throw herself into. As per Rohirric tradition, there was to be a big festival in the central square, with food stalls, dancing, and other entertainments. Cressida was to have a spot there, too. She was going to read one of her stories, and she knew just the one. She was currently painting some big pictures to go with key moments of the text. She knew her pictures could never be as good as her mother's, but they were something never seen before in Rohan, even in Edoras, so they were very popular. Another good reason for them was to help convey the story to those who couldn't read, rather like stained-glass windows in churches.

When the big day finally arrived, Cressida could feel an extra fission of excitement in the air as everyone busied themselves with decorating the town. There were boughs of foliage; bright banners and ribbons; and special fretworks and candles adorning every window. Men were performing tricks with their horses, and various smaller games of skill were being played.

Partway through the day, Cressida set up her wares in one of the larger refreshment tents and told _A Christmas Tale_ by Charles Dickens. She wanted to make it an extra special performance so she had roped in Wilfrith and a couple of other Riders to help. Situated behind the cloth screen at the back of the stage, they recreated all the sound effects, like the ghostly rattle of Jacob Marley's chains.

When she had finished reading, Cressida was surrounded by people wanting to order copies of the pictures she'd made. She would be busy for quite a while after Yule. After this, she, Wilfrith, Leofstan, and Elfnod packed up their equipment and made their way out of the slightly fuggy tent to the pleasant chill of the afternoon air.

"Excuse me?"

A tall lady stood behind them. Her dove-grey cloak was edged in red and gold, and was held at her throat by a pearl brooch. It was being whipped up by the breeze to reveal a dress of pure white beneath. The deep bows of Cressida's friends confirmed it; she sank into a curtsey.

"You honour us, my Lady," said Leofstan.

"Oh no, please, it is _you_ who have honoured _me_. I thoroughly enjoyed your performance."

"Thank you, my Lady." Even though Cressida had been living in Edoras for several weeks now, she was still in shocked awe.

"Miss Cressida, I have often heard the maids speak of you. I just wanted to let you know I'm glad I ventured out today."

"Thank you, my Lady," Cressida repeated, a little more confidently this time.

"I won't tarry you any longer. You must get back to the festivities, as I must get back to Meduseld. Good day."

Once Éowyn was out of earshot, Leofstan whistled lightly.

"My, that was…" he stopped abruptly.

Everyone followed the line of his gaze. Even in the hustle and bustle of the square, the pale-skinned, dark-haired man was easy to spot. He slipped away quickly.

"Come on, let's go," said Wilfrith.

The arm about Cressida's shoulders remained in place until they reached The Stag's Rest.

XXX

The tradition of gift-giving seemed to be as eagerly followed in Edoras as it had been back home. Cressida had given each of her friends a small picture of a favoured scene from a story – either one of hers or a traditional Rohirric one. In return, Wilfrith had nervously pressed a small cloth-covered parcel into her hand. Inside the folds, Cressida found a delicate, wooden hair-comb, which had been carved to resemble an apple.

"Like in Snow White," Wilfrith explained.

Cressida had promised to wear it that very evening, when the festivities would be given over to dancing. She also wore her new dress: a beautiful confection made of teal-green velvet, which Cressida had been steadily saving for. Her friend, Elfleda, had made it into a dress as her Yule-gift, but she'd also added some golden ribbon-work as a surprise. It was easily the finest dress Cressida owned. She felt it, too, as she slipped it over her head, for it seemed to make her carry herself differently. Finally, she opted for a simple half-up, half-down hairstyle that her new comb could crown with pride.

"Why, don't 'ee look fine, lass," remarked Master Aldus as Cressida descended the stairs.

They were all attending the dancing that evening, as Master Aldus and Mistress Hild had already done their duty by their patrons, having provided several barrels of ale and cider in anticipation of the evening's events.

The noise of the crowd drifted over to them as they left the inn; music had going for a while and the dancing was well under way. Wild boar was being roasted on spits and there were sweet meats for sale. Cressida found her girlfriends and they stood in a little group, supping their drinks and chatting. Elfleda and Eoforhild were idly eyeing up a group of young men Cressida recognised as apprentices. She, on the other hand, was looking out for Wilfrith, and only spotted him when an elbow in the ribs from Eoforhild turned her in that direction.

Wilfrith had evidently had a bath and he had tidied his hair away from his face. He wore his usual outfit of tunic, jerkin, and leggings, but they looked cleaner and crisper than his other off-duty clothes, and his boots were shiny. Wilfrith had dressed with effort and care; Cressida's heart skipped a beat at the thought. But then it was natural for him to do so, for Yule was a big occasion, and… and what if things went back to the way they were? She shouldn't really encourage anything.

Those thoughts were half-hearted at best and were swiftly locked away as she was eagerly pulled into the next dance.

Wilfrith kept Cressida occupied all evening what with one thing and another. They would form a little group with Elfleda, Eoforhild, and their two partners Wulfric and Ecgberht in between dances. The girls looked out for each other and it was all very proper, although it was generally acknowledged that social protocols were relaxed slightly for this one particular evening.

XXX

As predicted, Cressida had a very heavy workload after Yule. Not that she minded so much, as it gave her a good excuse to remain inside for much of the day. The weather had finally done what it had been threatening to do ever since her arrival: it snowed. And in Rohan, snow meant snow. Fortunately, the Rohirrim well used to such weather, so life more or less continued as normal, just with the occasional snowball fight thrown in for good measure. Another good thing was that the tent which Cressida had utilised for _A Christmas Carol_ was kept erected, and it duly played host to more readings.

It was after one such event, as Cressida was packing up her things, when she felt a movement behind her. The few people who remained in the tent gasped. Cressida turned; she was now face to face with none other than Gríma Wormtongue. He was flanked by two Riders, who looked distinctly less friendly than Leofstan and Elfnod.

"How may I be of assistance… Sir?" she said carefully, hoping to sound more confident than she actually felt. Wilfrith was away with his Éored at the moment and Cressida wanted to be brave for him. It was easier to think of Wormtongue as 'The Worm'.

Said Worm pulled out one of Cressida's picture-pages and looked at it sneeringly. It was a scene from the Heath Ledger film _A Knight's Tale_.

"You would teach the peasantry such nonsense, when they have little chance of ascending to such heights?"

"Everyone has the ability to better themselves, all that is lacking _is_ the chance. Take me, for example, before I came here I worked in a shop. Now I-"

"Sell dreams … unlikely, unobtainable dreams." The Worm scrunched up the piece of parchment and let it drop to the floor, where he ground it under his boot. "You'd best learn now, Miss, that hope has forsaken Rohan."

"There is always Hope."

The Worm scoffed.

"And what would a seller of dreams hope for?"

"The same thing that every loyal daughter of Éorl hopes for: that Théoden-King recovers his strength to lead his people to greatness in battle once again. Surely, as his Chief Advisor, you want that as well?"

"Alas, I fear that His Majesty is far too weak." The tone was one of concern – he even had a hand over his heart – but the challenge never left those cold, pale eyes.

"I don't believe that. I believe in the Second Line of Éorl _and_ I believe that we will see Hope renewed."

There was a murmur of ascent from the surrounding crowd. The Worm glanced about him, a calculating look now in his eyes.

"As you will, Miss." Another sneer caressed his mouth. "But we shall see."

He turned on his heel and swept from the tent followed closely by the Riders. Cressida crossed her arms.

"Yes we shall."

 **TBC**

*1 _Remedies for Fortune Fair and Foul_ by Frances Petrarch (1365).


	4. There and Back Again

DISCLAIMER: It is called fanfiction for a reason, so just sit back, relax, and read… no questions asked.

 **CHAPTER 4: THERE AND BACK AGAIN**

 _ **Let books be your table, and you shall be full of delights. Let them be your mattress, and you shall sleep peaceful nights.**_ (*1)

After the heady delights of Yule, the advent of the coming year was marked by very few in Edoras. Only Cressida made mention of its passing, and even then she couldn't say much because that might lead to a _lot_ of explaining. Up 'til now, she had managed to avoid or brush off the more prying questions. Fortunately, the townspeople seemed content to live and let live.

Of course it was ironic that Cressida's foreknowledge seemed to make the days pass by very slowly, even though it was only a mere matter of weeks. Aided by the thawing of the weather, Cressida had been making it her habit to wander through the market in the general direction of Meduseld. Just in case. Thus, when the town gossips spoke of one of the Mearas, an old man in white, a dark-haired man, an Elf, _and_ a Dwarf, she was right on hand and made her way to the town-gates, where a small crowd had gathered. Mostly, people seemed to be there to admire Shadowfax, and even Cressida's miniscule knowledge of horses told her that this creature was exquisite. _She_ , however, was waiting on another event.

The wait was not a long one, for the great, double-doors at the front of the Golden Hall opened. There came the sounds of scuffling and shouting, and then the betrayer of Rohan was hurled ignominiously down the steps. This initial group was quickly by another larger one made up mostly of Riders, but was headed by a man dressed in plump furs. He was tall and pale-haired with a wide band of gold encircling his brow. It was Théoden; the growing crowd began to buzz as it sighted him.

The Worm was allowed to run. Cressida gave a small smirk when their eyes briefly met.

"Hail, Théoden-King!"

Everyone kneeled in reverence.

XXX

According to Wilfrith, the Worm's influence had left the running of Rohirric lands in a terrible state, so Théoden was pitched headlong into sorting things out. Rohan had long been assailed by both Orcs and the Hillmen of Dunland, causing a steady trickle of refugees to arrive at Edoras. The King, his personal Guard, and many other Riders had swiftly travelled to the Fords of Isen, where Erkenbrand was said to be battling Orcs, but they only found the army to be scattered to the four winds. They returned dispirited at not being able to help defend their kinsmen and women. A private counsel was swiftly called.

The very next day orders for the complete evacuation of Edoras were issued. Even though Cressida had known of such a course, her mind was still in a whirl as she tried to decide what to take with her. The War of the Ring seemed a lot less adventurous and exciting when you were caught at the sharp end of it.

She eventually decided upon blankets, a small change of clothes, and personal toiletries. She did, however, have two large items that were immediately packed: her prized leather-bound tomes filled with neat versions of all her stories. She could carry one and surely Mistress Hild could find room in their cart for the other. It was hoped these stories would fill people with hope in the dark days to come.

Everyone was quiet as the column left the city, led by the King and surrounded by Riders. Most people had never made such a long journey before and all were worried by what would happen to their families and homes. There was the odd snatch of chatter as the day wore on, but people mainly kept themselves to themselves. The only significant stop was to water the horses and to hand around bread and fruit.

Théoden, his Riders, and their new friends kept a sharp look out. Legolas kept a little in front of the column and so was able to warn them of the approaching attack by Orcs and Wargs. While the King led the Riders into battle, his niece led the civilians away from it. They were sitting ducks really, but Cressida kept her thoughts to herself. She knew they would reach Helm's Deep safely, even if it meant many brave men losing their lives.

The calculations of war were swiftly showing themselves in a new light.

XXX

"Helm's Deep!"

Upon hearing this, Cressida jumped down from the cart and ran to the head of the column.

The flat, grey floor of the valley stretched before them, the surrounding hills eventually coming together to a point where the Hornburg had been built many years before. Shielding her eyes against the sun, Cressida could just make out the snaking causeway that ran up to the entrance. There was the great tower that housed Helm Hammerhand's horn, the long Deeping Wall, and the Deeping Stream which would soon become both a source of life and of death.

Cressida was only dimly aware of the others passing her until a hand landed on her shoulder. It was the Lady Éowyn.

"I've heard so much about Helm's Deep, that to finally see it in real life … is an odd feeling. The fate of so many is about to be decided. I never thought I'd live to see such a day." Unconsciously, Cressida felt for Tinkerbell below her bodice.

"War has a way of clarifying people's thoughts. Now the time has come for the Éolingas to stand up and take their chance. But … to die in battle … what a glorious thing."

They looked at each other and – just briefly – something seemed to pass between them, some kind of understanding, but Éowyn was called away, leaving Cressida to re-join the many other anonymous faces within the column.

Things had been so quiet on the walk from Edoras that the buzz of voices greeting them from behind the wooden gates seemed almost surreal. People were milling all around, so Cressida and Elfleda settled themselves into a corner and started to tell stories, but even their words couldn't stem the tide of dark rumours. Many villages had already been attacked; everyone was tense and scared.

The women and children were eventually ordered into the Glittering Caves, whilst all those able to bear arms were sent to the armoury. Cressida hadn't seen Wilfrith since he'd rode away from the column, and it terrified her to think she might never see him again.

XXX

Those in the Caves kept up their spirits by singing and Cressida told more stories, but as the sounds of the battle raged outside, everyone began to get quieter and quieter. It seemed to be one hundred times louder where they were because the noises seemed to reverberate all around them. A sudden explosion had everyone jumping, whilst grit was shaken from the ceiling. No one got any sleep and they all huddled together, hoping for the end.

XXX

Silence.

Then the scraping of the great, wooden doors being pulled open brought everyone to their feet. Éowyn moved to the front, sword held up in readiness. It was Théoden himself. He smiled fondly at his niece and placed his hand over hers.

"Béma has granted us victory!" he declared. (*2)

There was a great cheer and the women began to hug one another. Some made to move passed the King, but he stopped them, suddenly serious.

"We have yet to finish clearing the field. Our brothers lie entangled amongst the filth of Sauron. While I do not forbid you from leaving the Keep, I strongly advise against it, especially if you have young ones with you. If your menfolk have been wounded – or killed – I will of course let you know."

Théoden bowed solemnly and left, closely followed by Éowyn. Taking their cue from this, the women began to venture outside, but most heeded the warning. They began lighting fires and preparing cauldrons full of warming broth, whilst osome gathered linens and medicines, and prepared beds for the wounded. Everyone took turns in caring for the young and elderly. Men were drifting in and out, and there was the occasional outburst as couples were reunited – or someone heard the opposite.

There was Wilfrith, standing in the doorway – he was whole, he was _alive_! Before Cressida knew what she was doing, she was running across the room, straight into Wilfrith's arms. They held each other for a long time, but when Cressida made to pull away, she found herself still enveloped.

"Leofstan," he croaked.

"Oh, Wilfrith, I'm so sorry."

"It was an Orc attack, when they broke through the gates. They were so vicious…" Wilfrith's voice caught in his throat.

"Hey, hey, you know you've always got me… if you wanted to talk."

Wilfrith pulled back and smiled a watery smile.

"I know. I'm glad."

His hand twitched suddenly, as though he wanted another hug, but his eyes were now focussing on a point behind Cressida. She turned, there was a older woman, who looked a lot like Leofstan. Wilfrith slowly went over. Cressida watched as the woman's face changed to one of anguish. Another woman came hurrying up. There was no need for words; they left the women alone.

Bodies still littered the battleground, but there were the makings of a Dunlending burial mound. Piles of Orc carcasses were already sending a stench into the air, while the dead Rohirrim were slowly being carried back to the Keep. A strange sort of calmness seemed to permeate all around. Cressida and Wilfrith stood for a while on the side-lines, giving each other silent comfort, their hands gently entwined.

XXX

It was a much different atmosphere once everyone was safely back at Edoras, as the whole town turned out to honour the dead. The doors of Meduseld had been thrown open, just as they had in such times of yore. Rich and poor rubbed shoulders together and ate from the same boards. There was a real sense of community – a community that was whole once again. Already, the name of Théoden Ednew (Théoden the Renewed) was being talked of with great pride.

With so many crowded into Meduseld, there was not much room for dancing – unless, that is, you were small enough to fit on top of the tables as Merry and Pippin were. There was lots of singing, though. Some of the ladies were looking scandalised as they heard the lyrics. Even Wilfrith was rubbing his neck in embarrassment; perhaps this was because he guessed that Cressida had guessed that _he_ had been an enthusiastic participant on previous occasions.

"I do apologise, ladies," he stuttered as a particularly 'frisky' tune came to a halt.

"Pfff, I've heard plenty of the like back home," answered Cressida dismissively. "But enlighten me: were those the ordinary lyrics, or the 'Rider' ones?"

"Think you could do better?" Elfnod enquired idly.

"As a matter of fact, I do. I'll bet you I can sing a song with _decent_ lyrics, and it'll still be a hit."

"The stake?"

"Loser buys a round of drinks at The Stag's Rest."

"Suits me."

Cressida had been waiting for this moment. Throughout all their meets at the inn, she had been promising herself that she would contribute a song. She'd even gone so far as to teach the tune to the band so as to have the greatest impact, but she'd never quite had the courage to stand up and sing. Now she rose and went to speak to Mildred, the lead-fiddler, who nodded. As Cressida stood in front of the group, she whispered to herself, 'This is for you, England.'

 _Here's forty shillings on the drum  
For those who volunteer to come  
To 'list and fight the foe today  
Over the hills and far away_

 _O'er the hills and o'er the main  
Through Rohan and Gondor by the rein  
Th_ _é_ _oden commands and we obey  
Over the hills and far away_

 _When duty calls me I must go  
To stand and face another foe  
But part of me will always stray  
Over the hills and far away_

 _O'er the hills and o'er the main…_

 _If I should fall to rise no more  
As many comrades did before  
Then ask the fifes and drums to play  
Over the hills and far away_

 _O'er the hills and o'er the main…_

 _Then fall in, lads, behind the drum  
With __colours_ _blazing like the sun  
Along the road to come what may  
Over the hills and far away_

 _O'er the hills and o'er the main…_ (*3)

As Cressida was nearing the end, she could hear others joining in with the chorus, and then there was applause as Mildred played the final notes with a flourish. Both made curtseys to the assembled crowd. Elfnod smiled slightly and raised his tankard in salute.

Cressida felt a presence behind her, it was Wilfrith. As the others went back to their drinks, he pulled her outside onto the terrace.

"I think you've made an ally there," he said as they reached the end of the walkway. He cleared his throat.

Cressida could read the intention in his eyes, she felt her heart begin to thump. Perhaps it was time to take control of her own story. Before Wilfrith could bend his head, Cressida was up on tiptoe and had pressed her lips to his. She could feel the surprise this caused, but he was soon reciprocating. The kiss was slow, tender, and a little tremulous. When they parted, Wilfrith grinned.

"It seems my Lady beat me to it. The Royal Gardens are just down there; they're a little overgrown these days, but…"

"Sounds lovely."

Cressida took the proffered arm and began to pull Wilfrith back the way they'd come, this time eliciting a chuckle.

XXX

"I should really ask your father's permission," said Wilfrith as they meandered through borders spilling over with plants.

"Yes, well, my father's a waste of space. You'll be better off asking my moth-"

Cressida was pulled up short. She crossed her arms defensively, not catching Wilfrith's eye, and began fiddling with the silver chain that hung round her neck. It was more visible with the lower neckline of her evening dress. Wilfrith regarded her carefully.

"What is that?" he eventually enquired.

Cressida narrowed her eyes, but reached down and brought her pendant out into the light.

"This is Tinkerbell. She reminds me to have faith and trust."

"You've never said where you come from. I hadn't liked to ask."

It was not a question, but Cressida answered it anyway.

"It's complicated. I don't even know all the details myself, yet here I am. Somehow. Somewhere."

Cressida's little chuckle caught in her throat. Wilfrith sighed and stepped up to her. With two fingers, he brought Cressida's face up to look at his. Then, with a hand gently cupping her cheek, he looked deeply into her eyes.

"Now is not the time for questions. If the rumours are true, we'll be riding for battle again soon. We'll talk when this War is ended."

Cressida nodded mutely. Wilfrith brought her close and kissed the top of her head. He didn't speak, but as he cradled her, he looked out into the night, his mind winging its way to the field of battle.

XXX

Both March and May would be significant months this year, the former for the Battle of the Pelennor Fields and the latter for the coronation of Aragorn, or King Elessar as he would be known. Other than these details, Cressida wasn't really able to gauge when the Riders would begin returning to Edoras. She supposed the ill and injured would arrive first, but she didn't want Wilfrith to be part of this group.

They might not have talked of such things yet, but Cressida was determined to prove her worthiness as a Rohirric wife. Although this would mean learning about household matters the so called 'old-fashioned' way. Hopefully, cooking and cleaning wouldn't be too hard, just a case of using different methods and ingredients. Budgeting wouldn't be an issue either. No, laundry would prove the hardest task to master; having always been used to a washing machine, Cressida knew going back to basics would be tough. Maybe she could ask Mistress Hild for help, and then do some of the chores in exchange for a reduction of rent. The coin she saved could go towards her hopeful future with Wilfrith.

Cressida sighed happily, only for the image of her mother to suddenly blot her mood. This was a time in her life they had discussed so often, complete with all the fairytale details. She began to fiddle with Tinkerbell.

"Oh, Mum… I wish you could be here… I wish I could be with you, but I love him so much. You understand, don't you? All I want is what you and Nkosana have; I want my own fairytale ending. I know now we probably won't see each other again, but please be happy for me."

XXX

Even from up in her room, Cressida could hear the sounds of horses. There was a tangible fission of excitement in the air. She bounded downstairs and walked swiftly across the bar, glancing over at the forest tapestry as she did so. She skidded to halt, hardly believing her eyes. Surely it couldn't… but she'd _looked_ at that tapestry almost every day. How could she not have noticed? But there it was, in full technicolour: the green trees, the golden thatch, the blue door, the brown, twisting path, and the little girl… in the red, hooded cloak… Cressida peered closer. There he was! The grey wolf hiding behind the trees, looking so pale amongst the bark.

 _Beep._

Cressida shivered slightly, listening to the comforting familiarity of the whinnying horses. Fresh air. Fresh air and sunshine. Yes, that was what she needed. She left the inn and almost immediately caught sight of Captain Cyneweard.

"Captain!" she called, waving at him.

"Good day to you, Miss. You are looking well."

"You too, but please tell me: what of Wilfrith? Is he injured?"

The Captain swallowed, not quite managing to look her in the eye.

"Would that he were, Miss. I'm afraid it is to be assumed that Wilfrith lost his life on the battlefield."

Cressida felt the pit of her stomach drop.

"No… he can't… what… what happened?"

"That's the worst of it. We believe he was taken by one of the Fellbeasts. His body has not been recovered."

 _Beep._

Cressida started to hyperventilate, unable to speak.

"Thank you, Captain Cyneweard, your message, hard as it was, was faithfully delivered. I'll take over now."

Cressida felt herself being enveloped from behind, they were the soft, plump arms of Mistress Hild. She turned into the embrace, still incoherent from shock.

"Why him?" she finally managed to croak.

"Because your mind could no longer support him."

This odd sentence broke through the fog.

"My mind? What are you talking about?"

Mistress Hild took her by the shoulders.

" _Open_ your mind, child, it is time to remember."

In spite of herself, Cressida closed her eyes.

 _It was dark. It was raining. She… she was driving. There was something in the road. A screech of brakes…_

The sound was so clear. It filled Cressida's mind with its horrible, deadly mechanicalness.

 _Beep._

"Who _are_ you?"

"I am that which helps souls, who are not yet ready, to make their final journey."

"Souls?"

"You are dying, Cressida."

"But it's not my time. I'm… I'm barely twenty."

"I know, pet, it never gets any easier for me."

"Can't you send me back? There must still be time."

"I don't make the rules."

"What about Mum?"

"Nkosana will take care of her; he's a good man."

"I don't want to die." But when Cressida looked at Mistress Hild, she saw her answer reflected in those warm, hazel eyes. "What happens now?"

"The next time you walk into The Stag's Rest will be your last."

"I could refuse to go in."

"Then you would simply fade. Trust me, child, this is the best way."

Cressida's eyes flickered to the inn. Things had changed for her so much in there. She let out a shuddering breath, squared her shoulders, and walked purposefully up to the building, pausing briefly on the threshold.

XXX

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep…

 _The steady rhythm of Cressida's monitors, which had become almost comforting in their familiarity, suddenly went into crash-mode. Ella was on her feet in an instant, screaming for help, but the doctors and nurses were already on their way. She was unceremoniously bundled into the relatives' room._

 _Once alone, Ella couldn't sit still. She paced frantically. She tried texting Nkosana, but her hands were shaking so much she could only manage four letters: HELP. It couldn't be happening; they'd said there was hope, they'd_ said _. Cressida had been rallying, they'd_ said _she had._

 _Not like this. Not after everything._

 _Ella had thought reading to her daughter might help. She knew Cressida would prefer that to idle chit-chat._ The Elves and the Shoemaker _had come first and then many others, including_ A Christmas Carol _. A logical choice, given the time of year. Yes, Cressida would appreciate the detail._

 _Melvin didn't. Melvin never would. He'd only visited once. A special leave of absence. Not exactly private, given the looming presence of two security guards. Ella had sort him out. It was a much regretted moment of weakness, for he'd scoffed at sight of the book on her chair._

" _Like she's going to hear you."_

" _The nurses are hopeful she does."_

" _We both read to her."_

 _Nkosana had stood behind Ella, silently scrutinising Melvin_ _. He of course knew of Ella's past and detested Melvin for it. Maybe it was Nkosana's presence that had persuaded Melvin not to stay for his allotted time. Ella was glad of it. She was glad of Nkosana, too._

 _Yes, Ella had found her Prince Charming. They'd met through the publishing company which commissioned most of Ella's work. Theirs had been the perfect romance, complete with a white wedding at the English Heritage property Cleeve Abbey. They had had two boys, Hugo and Leo, and Nkosana treated Cressida as though she was his own._

 _Had treated._

 _The cold realisation was slowly creeping into Ella's heart. She loved Nkosana and their sons, of course she did, but they could never understand the love and life she and Cressida shared._

 _The Consultant came in, her face holding a difficult expression. Ella felt her knees give way. It was just her and the Consultant. She felt alone, so completely alone._

 **THE END**

 _ **Not every story has a happy ending, but that doesn't mean it's not worth telling.**_ (*4)

*1 Ephrem the Syrian (c.303-373AD).

*2 Béma is synonymous with the Vala Oromë (the Hunter).

*3 _Over the Hills and Far Away_ is a traditional marching-song dating from at least the 17th Century. There have been many different lyrics through the years. The ones used here (slightly adapted!) were written by John Tams for the 90s TV series _Sharpe_ , starring Sean Bean. Seven degrees of separation and all that…

*4 Lucian (c.125-180AD).

 _All names were sourced from behindthename_

Finally, thank you for reading my story. It has been an absolute delight. It may be a while until I publish again – not through a lack of ideas, but simply a lack of time to write them all down. Until then, I bid you adieu.

Rumrum x


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